Beloved Warrior (40 page)

He thought he would go mad worrying about Juliana. What if Kingsley arrived first? If he thought he was in danger, he would not spare anyone in his way. He had proved that in Spain.

It was early the next day when Denny, Jamie and Rory arrived. On seeing Patrick, Denny broke into the first smile the Maclean had ever seen on his face. Patrick glanced at them, and Rory shook his head. So they had not told him.

“Sit down, Denny,” he said, indicating one of the two chairs. He sat down across from him.

“Does the word Kingsley mean anything to you?”

Denny concentrated but shook his head.

“You seemed to recognize something on the map. Do you know what?”

Again he shook his head.

“Chadwick? Handdon Castle? Garrett?”

A flash of recognition went through his face at the last.

“Spain?” he tried next.

Alarm flickered in Denny’s eyes.

“You were riding with your brother, Harry,” Patrick continued. “You were attacked.”

A muscle fluttered in Denny’s throat and he stood. Paced.

“Denny,” Patrick said softly. “We think you are Garrett, the son of the Earl of Chadwick and the rightful Viscount Kingsley.”

Denny stilled, his body radiating tension.

“He needs you, Denny. Your father needs you.”

“My . . . father?” The two words sounded rusty.

Patrick and Rory looked at each other with startled surprise. “Aye,” Patrick said softly. “The earl. Juliana has seen him. He is ill.”

Patrick was not sure how much Denny understood. So many skills were natural to him. But memories of people, places?

“We need your help,” Patrick said, then explained. “We want you to return to Handdon Castle with us. We want you where many people can see you, and your existence cannot be denied.”

Denny was silent for a moment, then nodded.

“We will leave in the morning,” Patrick said. “The four of us. Diego will go ahead tonight.” He looked at Denny. “You are always welcome at Inverleith. If you are uncomfortable at Handdon Castle, or we are wrong, we will return home together.”

 
 
J
ULIANA was in the courtyard watching a jousting match when four men rode up. Her heart fluttered as she saw the man in the lead.

The gates were open. Diego was somewhere, probably playing dice. He had returned yesterday, leading a limping horse. Apparently a rock was lodged under the mount’s hoof. She’d wanted to run over and hug him. He was becoming dear to her but in an entirely different way from Patrick.

But now she watched as the newcomers approached. It was the fourth man, though, that captured every eye. She saw everyone in the courtyard come to a stop, one by one, and stand still, amazement and awe spreading over their faces.

Then someone’s feet started working again, and the owner of the feet hurried inside.

The four men dismounted all in unison, and she thought she had never seen such a wonderful sight. Patrick. Rory. Jamie. Denny. The latter was gazing up at the castle, then around at the walls. She only wished Lachlan was here, but he was in London or on his way back.

Then the Earl of Chadwick emerged from the door, a cane in his hand. His eyes immediately went to the four men standing next to their horses. A look of such shock and joy crossed his face that she could barely hold back tears.

He limped over to Denny. “Garrett,” he whispered. “Garrett.”

He held out his hand. Denny hesitated, then took it, and the earl’s arms clasped him.

She looked at Patrick and saw the smile playing around his lips. Had she seen him smile before? Certainly not like this. Her heart thumped so hard she thought everyone in the courtyard would hear.

Then the earl stood back. “What happened? Your brother said you were dead.”

Denny’s hand shook slightly.

“I think we should talk privately,” Patrick said.

How easily he takes leadership,
Juliana thought. He was the Maclean. It took nothing away from the other brothers, she knew. Each one had worked to see this happen.

They went inside, the earl staying at Denny’s side, apparently unaffected by Denny’s lack of speech. Once in his chamber, Denny stood in front of the painting. Tears fell silently from his eyes. “She . . . is dead?”

His father nodded. “I have to know what happened,” he said after a moment.

“Thomas Charlton said you were a man of your word,” Rory said.

The earl met his stare. Nodded.

“We brought him home to you. But we jeopardized others by doing so.”

“I swear no harm will come to you.”

“We think your son Harry tried to kill him,” Patrick said. “But he lived. The wound robbed him of memory. I think he did not want to remember the betrayal.”

The earl’s eyes filled with pain. His hand went to Denny’s arm. “I should have known. Mayhap I did know but could not admit it. I could not understand how you died and he did not. I know you would not have returned alive and left him dead.”

He paused, then asked, “But where have you been all these months?”

Denny did not answer. The earl turned his gaze to Patrick.

Juliana watched Patrick make a decision. He did not trust easily. “He was a slave. On one of Mendoza’s galley ships,” he finally said.

The earl closed his eyes, then opened them. “Come with me,” he told Patrick. They went outside and he called one of his servants. “I want two men to bring John Davie to me.” He turned back to Patrick. “John was Garrett’s servant. Now he is a captain in the guard.’Twas Harry’s request.”

When the servant left, the earl turned to him with tears in his eyes. “Will he get better?”

“He already has. When he came aboard, I did not believe he understood anything. Now he understands everything, I think. He just chooses not to remember. When he saw that painting he remembered something.”

“Thank you,” the earl said.

Patrick hesitated. “What about Harry?”

“I want proof. I want to hear him myself. Then I will do what is necessary.” He pierced Patrick with a stare. “Why did you do this?”

“He is my friend,” Patrick said,“and I love Juliana Mendoza. I would not have her wed a murderer.” He shocked himself with the words. It was the first time he had said it.

“I would have liked her for Garrett,” the earl said. “I do not even know your name.”

“Patrick Maclean. The others are Rory Maclean and Jamie Campbell.”

“I have heard of you. There are legends about the Macleans and the Charltons,” he said. “I could not believe them. I do now. I am grateful for what you have done for my son.” He paused. “Would you be there when I question John Davie?”

 
ISCOUNT Kingsley rode in two days later. While they waited for him to appear, Patrick played court to Juliana. He realized he had never actually done that. He had no doubt that the earl would still be very pleased to have her as Garrett’s bride, even without the Mendoza dowry.

Under some not-too-gentle persuasion, John Davie had confessed that Kingsley had conspired with Luis Mendoza to kill Garrett. Garrett, he said, had heard things he did not like about the Mendozas. He was going to oppose any business agreement between the two. He would not condone slavery.

Garrett had not been that easy to kill. He had been attacked near the Mendoza home in Coruna. Beaten. Stabbed. Then someone came and the paid assassins ran away. Later, Harry heard he had been cared for by a merchant and when he seemed to have lost his wits, Mendoza claimed him and sent him to the galleys. He had thought it a fine joke on someone who had humiliated him. A few months, and he would be dead.

Juliana had listened with horror. She’d never had illusions about her father, but murder . . .

“I will destroy him,” the Earl of Chadwick said.

“Not my mother.”

“No, never your mother. I will send for her. She has a home here.”

“And at Inverleith,” Patrick said, his arm around Juliana. She looked up at him with eyes that nearly unmanned him. She was so incredibly beautiful.

Harry returned that afternoon. He was immediately seized by two soldiers and taken to his father’s chamber. When he saw Patrick he started to protest, then his gaze went to the shadows where Garrett stood. His eyes widened. His mouth opened, but no sound came.

“Cain,” his father said. “Your name is Cain. And like Cain I am casting you out. You will leave today with only what you have on your back. No horse. No funds.”

“You cannot believe . . .”

“John Davie told us everything.”

Hate filled Kingsley’s face as he turned on his father. “You always preferred him. I did not exist for you. No matter what I did. It was always Garrett.”

He grabbed a dagger and ran toward Garrett. Patrick stepped between them and the dagger caught his side. Still, his other hand grabbed the weapon and turned it back, stabbing the blade into Kingsley’s heart before he lost consciousness.

 
PATRICK took Juliana to the cliffs that overlooked the sea and watched their last sunset on English soil.

He put his arms around her, thinking how much his life had changed in the past few months. How lucky he was. From ugliness had come such beauty. From hopelessness peace.

Because of Juliana.

He leaned down and touched her forehead with his lips. Because of his wound, they had not made love again, but he intended to fix that shortly.

And now they could go home. His wound was healing and they would leave the next day.

She had not left his side since the fight. His brothers had taken turns coming in as well. So had Diego and Jamie. Even Lachlan arrived, grumpy because he had not been involved in any of the action. He had discovered in London, though, that young Kingsley had been involved in several unsavory activities, including smuggling. He had been elated until he arrived and discovered all that had already happened.

Now he, too, was waiting for Patrick to improve enough to leave Handdon Castle. The Maclean brothers would ride home together. Jamie and Diego planned to travel with them to make sure, they said, they did not get into more trouble. “Wolves guarding the sheep,” Patrick muttered to Juliana.

“I would not call Macleans sheep,” she’d replied tartly.

But that was two days ago. And now they would leave on the morn.

He thought of Denny. His friend was getting better every day. Once he saw his brother, he’d remembered the attack and memories started flooding back. Not all. Maybe some would never come back, but he was speaking now. Slowly. Haltingly. It was clear now that he knew where he belonged. And the earl looked years younger. He would, Patrick knew, be patient.

Neither of them knew how long Diego would stay. He liked to say he was a wanderer, but they both had made it clear he was always welcome at Inverleith. . . .

The sea was churning, but the clear skies promised a fine day tomorrow.

“It is time to go home,” he said. “To Inverleith.”

She was silent and he realized that he had just assumed . . .

Fool him, but he had been that since he met her.

He turned her to him and put his arms around her. “Will you make it your home, too, yours and your mother’s?” He paused and then said the words that he realized had been in his heart nearly from the first day he’d encountered her in the cabin of the
Sofia.
Words that had been so difficult to say.

He touched her cheek, and his lips brushed hers lightly. Then he said, “I love you, Juliana Mendoza. Will you wed me as soon as we return?”

“Aye,” she said with a shy smile, and it made his heart ache. She was never shy. She was strong and bold and gallant and he loved her with his life.

She reached up on tiptoes. “My lord warrior,” she said, and then her lips met his. And not lightly. There was passion and love and an aching sweetness.

His heart swelled with a joy he’d never thought to have.

“No more, love,” he said softly. “My warrior days are over.”

He heard a deep chuckle and looked around.

Rory stood there. Behind him was Lachlan, a broad smile on his face.

“Go away,” he ordered.

“Aye,” Rory said, turning. But then he chuckled. “I think the Macleans have finally put the curse to rest.”

PATRICK knew Diego was leaving. He had sensed it the night before as they had dined.

Diego had been unusually silent, thoughtful. It was most worrisome to Patrick that he was beginning to understand the way the Spaniard thought.

The Spaniard had stayed two months after their return to Inverleith. Juliana had begged Diego to stay for the wedding and he’d agreed. Patrick and Juliana had now been wed two days—two wonderful, glorious days in which the sun was brighter, the sky bluer and the stars brighter.

They had waited—impatiently—for Juliana’s mother, who arrived, with Juliana’s mare, Joya, a week ago. The Earl of Chadwick had brought her after presenting evidence to King Ferdinand about the attempted murder of his son and preferring charges against Mendoza.

The earl had insisted on going himself, finally convincing Patrick that he would be placing himself at peril again if he went. It was the earl who had the legal right—and position—to press charges against Mendoza and protect Juliana’s mother. An English lord had been abducted, as had Scots. King Henry was demanding reparations from Spain. Where a lone Scot might have been hung for pirating a ship, an English lord was heralded for the act. Denny—nay, Garrett—was a hero. His memory was slowly returning, though physicians said there were probably events he would never remember.

Luis Mendoza was now himself in a Spanish prison and even being a relative of Ferdinand would not save him now.

The door to the stables opened, and the Spaniard slipped in. He started when he saw Patrick leaning against a post, his hands holding the reins of two horses.